Mental That One
by Argyle.S
Summary: Dumbledore insists the trio stay at Grimmauld Place during Christmas of the trio's sixth year. Nobody is happy about it and Hermione is acting strange. Ron's POV. Harry/Ron/Hermione Pairing. First Story in the Pink Elephant's Series


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and all associated characters, places, spells etc. belong to J. K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them for a use I'm rather sure she wouldn't approve of. No money is being made.

Warnings: Underage Alcohol consumption. Unsympathetic!Snape. Two Broken Noses. Shameless Liar!Ginny. Pink Elephants. Gratuitous descriptions of nights in the boy's dorm. Language a teenager would use. Trio!Smut

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Like so many of the best things in my life, it was Hermione's idea. I mean, what kind of seventeen year old thinks of that sort of thing? Oh. Right. Well, then, what kind of seventeen year old actually has the guts to do it after they think of it? No wonder she ended up in Gryffindor.

Of course, there was a war on. Most of the Wizarding World remembers that year as the first year of the Second War. Some of us know better. Some of us had already been fighting that war for five and a half years by the time we arrived at Grimmauld Place for Christmas of our sixth year.

The truth is, none of us wanted to leave Hogwarts that year. Not if we couldn't go back to the Burrow. Unfortunately, Dumbledore sided with my Mum. It already hadn't been a good year for my opinion of Dumbledore and this latest decision was enough to push me over the edge. Sending Harry back to that place for the second time since Sirius died ranked right up there with asking Malfoy to Christmas dinner as a good way to start the holidays.

Harry hadn't really been right since Sirius died. None of us had. Ginny was bad. Harry and Tonks were awful. Remus was the worst. I mean, I know you have to study the Dark Arts in order to teach defense and I'm not saying I'm not glad he's dead, but what Remus did to Rodolphus Lestrange still gives me nightmares, and it's been the better part of five decades. The only thing worse I've seen, and I've seen a lot, was what Neville did to Bellatrix, but that was still a year and a half in the future that winter.

Hermione was the one that disturbed me the most. Her parents had nearly pulled her out of Hogwarts after the Department of Mysteries. She'd told them, in no uncertain terms, that all that would do would cause her to miss the first 18 days of term, because she turned 17 on the 19th of September and was going back to school whether they liked it or not. I didn't see the row, but I did know that she turned up at Grimmauld Place a week into the summer and hadn't had a letter from them all term. I also know that she cleaned out her University savings account to cover her books, and she didn't talk about going home anymore. I tried talking to her about it, but she was angry with them, and I'd learned from other's mistakes on that point. Don't ever get between Hermione and the target of her anger.

Her problems with her parents weren't enough to explain her behavior though. She was nervous. In fact, she was down right twitchy any time Harry or I were out of her sight. It started after the attacks began during the summer. By the time September 1st rolled around she was making noises about dropping Arithmancy. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was so she wouldn't have to be away from Harry and I for three hours a week. McGonagall put a stop to that, and to her sleeping in the common room.

After a few weeks back, she started to calm down. At least, I thought she had until the day before term ended and Dumbledore told us where we'd be spending the holidays. I think McGonagall almost took away Hermione's prefect badge for what she said to Dumbledore. I didn't know if I should be proud that she'd finally learned to swear like a Weasley, or frightened that she was better at it than I was. I settled for being scared that she was so freaked out she'd suggest that Dumbledore had inserted his head in that portion of his anatomy. It was years later before I understood it was a Muggle phrase. In the magical world you just don't say things like that. It might give people ideas for new hexes.

The arrival at Grimmauld Place went about as well as could be expected. Harry stopped speaking the moment we arrived. By late afternoon Ginny had a slightly glass eyed look that told me she'd raided Dung's hidden stash of Fire Whiskey. Hermione didn't make it past the entryway.

Mrs. Black's portrait started yelling as we came in. Hermione hit it with a silencing charm and spent the rest of the day trying to curse the portrait off the wall.

It might not have happened at all if Snape hadn't showed up half way through what was already a tense dinner. Harry, always the calm, rational one of the bunch, greeted him with a cheerful "What the sodding hell are you doing here?"

Fred wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and mumbled something about how grown up ickle Harrikins sounded. The joke fell flat because a moment later Snape and Harry both had their wands out, and I, Ronald Billius Weasley of all people, was standing between them trying to talk them down.

I'd just about talked Harry down, but Snape, greasy git that he was, just had to get in the last word.

"How remarkably like your father-"

He never finished.

There are, among my memories of the Slytherins, three moments that I will cherish until my dying day. The first is the sound of Draco Malfoy's head bouncing off a dungeon wall after Hermione slapped the little sod senseless. The second is the sight of Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret. The third is the sound Snape's nose made when Hermione broke it with a pewter tankard.

Everyone in the kitchen stared at Hermione in shock as she seethed at Snape.

"Harry is NOT his father and it's past time you learned it."

The sound of the door slamming as she stormed out of the kitchen broke the spell. Fred and George gave her a standing ovation. Mum just looked at me and said, "Best go check on her, dear."

I found her in the study, sitting at one of the tables, doing her homework.

"Nice shot."

She glared.

"No, really. It's a good solid break. I know that noise. It's the same sound Charlie's nose made the day he and Bill had that fight over Katie Rowan."

She glared some more.

"You should have seen it. Charlie gets this letter by owl, right, only the love note inside is addressed to Bill, and Bill's letter gets the note addressed to Charlie. So there they are, in the middle of the kitchen, trying to strangle each other. During breakfast, if you can believe it. Well, Ginny's trying to get some bacon, and Charlie's foot kicks the edge of the pan, dumping all the bacon on the floor."

I can tell she wanted to know what happened. The curiosity was killing her. She would have rather let it kill her than ask, and because she just did the world a service and caved in Snape's face, I decided to be merciful.

"Ginny looks down at the bacon, then at Charlie, then at the bacon again."

Okay, so mercy was never my strong suit. I waited. It took exactly thirty-one seconds.

"And?" she demanded.

"Ginny whacked Charlie in the face with the pan. Broke his nose in one go."

She giggled.

"So, Mum comes running into the kitchen, and there's Charlie with a broken nose and Ginny holding the bloody frying pan. It should be an open and shut case, except this is Ginny. Between the time Charlie screamed and the time Mum got to the kitchen Ginny had turned on the water works. She's crying up a storm and going on about how Charlie had tried to kick her and hit the pan instead and she'd accidentally smacked him with the pan while trying to get out of the way of the flying bacon grease."

The giggles had given way to snickers.

"Mum listens to her for a minute, then without even hearing Bill and Charlie's side of it she grounds them both for a month and tells them they aren't allowed to have post until they go back to Hogwarts."

She was holding back the serious laughter, but I was ready for the kill.

"Then, she whips out her wand, Scourgifies the pan, and starts making Ginny some fresh bacon."

She was laughing so hard she was crying. I wasn't thick enough to think whatever was bothering her was gone, but it was the first good laugh she'd had in I don't know how long and I was just happy to see a smile back on her face.

I think Snape was the straw that broke the Hippogriff's back. Whatever it was that had been going on with Hermione had been going on for months. Between Grimmauld Place and Snape, I think she finally cracked under the pressure. Hermione has always been a woman of action, and when she's pushed, that action becomes more extreme.

What happened that night was pretty bloody extreme.

It was a little past midnight when I heard someone Alohomora the door open. Harry and I were both sitting up in an instant with our wands pointed at the door. Hermione slipped in through the open door.

Neither of us could see her face, but you don't spend as much time with someone as we'd spent with Hermione over the previous five and a half years without learning how that person moves. It may not be on a conscious level, but you leave to recognize them, even in the dark.

"Colloportus."

The door swung shut and locked.

"Imperturbatus."

You know, until that night, I didn't know you could Imperturb an entire room.

She flicked her wand and the gaslights in the room slowly rose.

Hermione had this look on her face as she looked back and forth between us. I'd never seen anything quite like it. It was a mix of panic, desperation and something else.

She flicked her wand at Harry's bed and I watched it grow to three times its width. Another flick and she conjured two more pillows. A final flick and Harry's sheet and blanket were gathered at the foot of his bed, leaving him in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. I watched with a mix of burning jealousy and rage as she slipped out of her dressing gown and into Harry's bed in nothing more than one of my old Cannon's t-shirts. Watched as the girl I'd loved for years slipped her wand under the pillow and snuggled up to my best mate.

Then she looked at me, and I thought I understood. I got up and slid into the space between her and the outside edge of the bed. Her wand came out for a moment, and with a flick, the lights were out.

I slept for maybe two hours before I felt her stirring again. I snuggled closer to her, mumbling and seeking relief for the comfortable ache between my legs. Then, suddenly I was wide-awake. She was slowly rubbing her hand over me through the cotton of my boxers. I bit my lip to keep from groaning. I wondered what on earth she was thinking, doing that while Harry was in the bed next to us.

I was about to find out.

The lights came up. Harry was awake. From the look on her face, there was no doubt she knew he was watching where her hand was. He looked as stunned as I felt. I didn't understand what was going on and tried to pull away, but she grabbed me and shook her head.

If it weren't for that look in her eyes, that same desperate, panicked look, I would have gotten out of that bed. Except I recognized the third emotion in the mix. I might not have ever seen it that close before, but I did know lust. I settled back against her and she smiled.

She tugged at the waistband of my boxers. I looked up at Harry. He was watching in some kind of morbid fascination. I suddenly knew why she'd chosen his bed. She'd trapped him.

She grabbed my face and steered my gaze back to her. Then she reached down and tugged on my boxers again. I nodded and lifted up enough that I could slip them off.

She reached down and caught me in her right hand. She began to stroke me. Slowly, up and down. Her left arm slipped under my neck and she pulled herself against me. She squeezed me as she stroked me and I wondered where she'd learned this.

I looked over and saw Harry. He was rubbing the front of his own shorts. She looked back and saw it too. I groaned when she let go of me and reached back to grab his hand. She pulled it away and I watched in shock and she stuffed it between her thighs and clamped them shut. He couldn't touch her, but he couldn't touch himself either.

She took me in her hand again. It was slow at first, but her own breathing was getting as ragged as mine. She picked up the tempo.

Living in a room with four other boys will teach you several things. One of them is how to have a mindblowing wank while keeping the noise level low enough that your roommates can sleep through it, or at least pretend they don't hear it.

Apparently, that doesn't apply when someone else is stroking you, when you have no control over the speed or the tempo.

Apparently, I inherited the Weasley lungs.

I screamed, I begged, I pleaded, I fucked that tight fist like there was no tomorrow.

Then I came.

It was messy. I got my leg, her leg, her shirt, her hand and Harry's leg before I stopped. She stroked me a few more times, then I watched, stunned as she lifted her hand to her mouth and licked it clean.

I think I almost came again just watching that.

She brought her wand out and Scourgified us all, then tucked it back under the pillow.

I saw Harry watching us and suddenly I didn't know how to feel. He knew how I felt about her, but she'd just invited him to watch while she stroked me off. I wondered if I should be angry, but I was just confused. I was about to get even more confused.

Hermione opened her legs. Harry looked down and it finally dawned on him that she wanted him to remove his hand. He did. As soon as he did, she rolled over to face him. Then she rolled right over him so he was between us. He was looking at her, but I could see his body stiffen in shock. He tried to look over at me but she caught his head and turned him back to face her.

I knew what was coming next.

She reached down and tugged his boxers.

I heard him swallow as he lifted up and slipped them off.

I'd seen Harry naked before. We live at a boarding school with communal showers and play on the same Quidditch team. It would be weird if I hadn't seen him naked. But this was different. Seeing someone naked is not the same as watching the girl you're in love with reach down and grab his cock and start stroking it. Hearing him have a quiet wank in the next bed is not the same as watching his head roll back and his eyes squeeze shut, or watching him bite his lip until you could see a tiny trickle of blood or feeling him grab your wrist and squeeze until you know you'll have bruises in the morning.

It's strange. I knew Harry was quiet. It's the sharing a dorm thing. Like I know Seamus has been fantasizing about Lavender and Parvati shagging while he watches, that Dean wants to be the filling in Patil sandwich, and Neville mainly goes back and forth between Katie Bell and Susan Bones, though he occasionally thinks about Ginny or Hermione. I never did get around to beating him up for those last two. General principle, you understand.

Harry though, never made a sound. Not in his bed and not that night. No matter how hard she stroked him, no matter how worked up he was, not even when he was filling her hand and not even when I moaned watching her lick her hand clean.

Not one goddamn sound.

The wanker made me fucking cry.

I'd just watched my best girl wank my best mate off and I had a raging hard on and a bad case of the sniffles.

A Scourgify later and Harry's come wasn't smeared all over my leg and his stomach.

I didn't know what was going to happen next. I suppose I should have guessed, but all I could really think about was how badly I needed to come.

Hermione sat up and stripped off the shirt she'd been wearing. It landed on the floor near her dressing gown.

I looked her up and down. She was simply breathtaking. Her hard nipples stood out like gumdrops. Her areolas were dark, purplish brown ovals, taller than they were wide. Her skin was pale from the winter months and the patch of hair between her legs was even bushier than the hair on her head. It was also sopping wet.

She straddled Harry for a moment as she moved over him then settled down on top of me, her back against my chest, her legs spread, my cock resting snuggly between my stomach and her bum. She reached down and grasped my hands. She slid the left up to her left breast and the right down between her legs. She used her fingers to show me what she liked. After I'd been stroking her for a few minutes, she brought my left hand up to her lips and sucked two fingers into her mouth. I swear I felt ever single stroke of her tongue on my cock. Then she guided the wet fingers down between her legs and slipped them inside her.

Her head rested on my shoulder as she rolled her hips against my hands. Every move she made rubbed her arse over me and it was taking ever bit of self-control I had not to get us both very sticky.

When it happened it scared the shit out of me. One minute, she was rolling her hips, making the sexiest little mewing noises between the moans and whimpers, the next she went stiff as a board and stopped fucking breathing. Her face turned redder than my hair and her whole body shook. When it finally broke she let out a moan and I swear it was the sexist thing I ever heard in my life.

Then I heard another moan and looked over at Harry.

Told you he was a wanker.

Then Hermione tried to kill me. She pulled my fingers out of her and licked them off.

The wand came out again long enough to clean Harry up before she shifted over on top of him. She didn't even have to show him where she wanted his hands.

Watching Harry get her off was different. For one thing, I could reach down and tend to my own need. I took it slow though, killing myself to enjoy the show they were putting on. I watched Harry's fingers disappear inside her while his other hand worked her clit. I watched as she fondled and her own breasts. She pinched the nipples so hard they turned white. She ground her arse against him. She made the prettiest noises. Those same whimpers, moans and mewing sounds. I wasn't taken by surprise when her orgasm hit. I got to watch the signs. I saw a twitch, I noticed the noise tapering off, watched her face turning red. Then I watched it happen again. I spilled in my hand a few seconds before she let out that sexy as hell moan.

This time she just lay still for a while, panting. Finally, she gave me a look, then nodded and picked up her wand. Before I could stop her she'd climbed off the bed. Two scouring charms and an air freshening charm later and the only evidence anything had happened was the fact that we were naked and Harry's bed was enlarged.

I got up. She returned the bed to its normal size. I watched in wonder as she dressed, unlocked the door and slipped out.

It wasn't until I locked the door after her, without magic since my 17th was still three months off, that I realized she hadn't spoken a word other than the charms.

The next day was just weird. There's no other way to describe it. Mum definitely knew something was up.

Okay, that was my fault. Hermione wore this low cut shirt and Mum caught be staring down it as Hermione leaned over. Of course, Hermione was trying to get me to look. Otherwise, she'd have worn a bra, or at least something that wasn't quite so loose fitting that I had a lovely view of her tits ever time she reached for a piece of toast.

So Mum decided not to leave us alone.

I can hear the logic now. "Nope. Can't leave Ron and Hermione alone. Best use Harry as a chaperone. They won't get upset about that."

Sometimes my Mum is thicker than I am.

Strangely enough, nothing happened that day. We talked, we laughed. We played chess and exploding Snap. Somewhere between lunch and dinner Hermione badgered us into doing Snape's potions essay. I tried to tell her she could just beat him up and make him give us an "O". She laughed, but we ended up doing the essay. It felt almost like fourth year. We were friends again. We were happy.

Of course, no one mentioned the two pink elephants named "War" and "Pervy Three-way Sex" sitting in the corners.

I wasn't surprised when the door opened that night.

I was a bit surprised when she wasn't wearing anything under the dressing gown, but it was the pleasant "Okay, I'm hard, can we shag now?" kind of surprise.

I wish I could say I was surprised to see that desperate, panicked look again, but I wasn't.

She flicked her wand at Harry's bed and it tripled in size. I shed my clothes before I got into bed that time. Harry's hit the floor a moment later.

We didn't sleep that night. We just held each her while she clung to us. An hour passed before she moved.

She slipped her hand down and started stroking me with her fingertips. It was teasing, meant to get me worked up but not get me off. Like I hadn't already been hard as a rock since she came into the room.

She didn't say a word that night. She just took me in her mouth, drove me mad and swallowed the evidence. Harry watched, hard as a rock the whole time. She didn't even stop for breath when she finished with me and slid over to him. She let him come in her mouth, too.

She mewed and whimpered and fisted her fingers in my hair as I slipped my fingers inside her and ran my tongue over her cunt. She pulled my hair, dragging my mouth where she wanted it. Pulling me closer, pushing me away, depending on what she needed. I was clumsy at it. I have the consolation that Harry was worse if her frustrated sighs and grunts were any indication. In the end we both managed to get her off, more through luck than skill. She stayed long enough to clean us up after we both wanked off next to her. Then she freshened the air and was gone.

We ignored the pink elephants again the next day. We were happy that way. We didn't have to admit, even to our selves, why we were so desperate the night before. We knew we'd be more desperate that night, but while the sun was up and Mum was worried about me and Hermione sneaking off to snog, we could pretend.

The third night Harry held Hermione in his arms while we took each other's virginity. I held her while she took his. This time she was the one who needed a wank afterwards. By the time we were done watching her, we were both hard again. I watched, fascinated as she sucked off Harry. He looked just as entranced as I felt when she sucked me off. I went down on her again. I had more luck. So did Harry.

The fourth day was tense. We could ignore "War", but "Pervy Three-way Sex" had obviously been into whatever passes for Fire Whiskey among pink elephants and was staggering around drunk.

Mum checked on us in the study at 11:30 AM.

At 11:35 AM we were in my and Harry's bedroom, naked, watching each other wank off.

At noon we sat down with the family for Christmas Eve dinner.

While the Weasley's were having a nice family get together after dinner I had two fingers in Hermione. She was sitting in Harry's lap and he was sucking on her left breast while she moaned into my shoulder.

When she showed up that night Harry and I were both naked and hard. She was carrying a large bag. She enlarged Harry's bed without preamble and shed her dressing gown. She opened the bag and pulled out a large potion bottle and two boxes. She opened them both and handed each of us a pair of thin, clear gloves out of one box and a small gold disk out of the other. I looked at the disk. The label read, "Priapus Prophylactuc's Unbreakable All Night Self Lubricating Self Sanitizing Feel All Wizarding Prophylactics." I looked at the other box. The gloves were from the same company, but weren't self lubricating. Which explained the potion bottle.

I looked at Hermione again. She had her wand out and as I watched she twisted around and pointed it at her bum.

"Sanitatus Rectus."

She shivered as the spell worked. I'd seen that particular shiver enough over the last few days to recognize it as anticipation.

She pulled on her gloves, then took the condom she'd given me and opened it. Harry and I watched, slack jawed, and she knelt down, placed it against my cock, she took me in her mouth, rolling it down as she did. She had to finish rolling it down with her hand, since neither of us fit more than half way into her mouth, but I didn't care. Once it was firmly around the base of my shaft, it glowed faintly blue. When the blue glow died, I felt as if I wasn't wearing a thing. It's good to be a wizard. It was also good to watch her put Harry's condom on.

And if she was about to let me do what I thought she was going to let me do, it was good to be Ronald Billius Weasley. Fucking brilliant.

She pulled the gloves on with a snap. It was strangely exciting. Harry and I followed suit, then took our usual spots on the bed. She picked up the potion bottle and climbed between us, but instead of settling down like she had the last few nights, she ended up on her knees facing away from us. I watched as she poured the lubricating potion on her right hand and smeared it over her fingers. She put her left hand down on the bed and came up on hand and knees.

I watched, slack jawed again, as she smeared the potion over her arse. She moaned as she pushed a finger in and fucked herself with it. The sounds she made were low, guttural, wanton, not her usual whimpers and moans. She pushed another finger in and I swear her voice dropped an octave. She came on the third stroke.

She pulled her fingers out and the glove glowed for a second and was dry and clean. She looked back and me and wiggled her hips. I didn't need to be told twice.

I got up on my knees and positioned myself as carefully as I could. She was impatient. She kept trying to push back onto be before I was in place. It was driving me insane.

Finally I got it right. I didn't know for sure until she shoved backwards and I suddenly found myself buried in her. I'd thought she was tight the night before, but this was something entirely new. Hermione, being Hermione didn't give me a bloody second to enjoy it. The moment my hips touched her arse she moved forward. I grabbed her hips and pulled back, holding her in place for a minute.

Harry laughed at the growl of rage from Hermione.

I pushed in a little further and just held it for a moment. She whimpered. That pleading little whimper she makes when she needs something desperately. I was learning that whimper. She was learning I couldn't resist that whimper. I gave her what she wanted.

She was mumbling. For a second I wondered if she was talking to me and started to slow down. She growled again and shoved back against me. After that, I didn't stop. The faster I went, the louder her moans and the harder she met me. For the second time she scared the living piss out of me when she came. It was completely different than before. Her moans got louder and louder, her whole body started shaking, but instead of seizing up and going quite she started screaming and ripped the sheet she was holding on to nearly in half. I was so stunned I almost stopped again, but she never even slowed down.

I'm not even sure she noticed when I came. She just growled in frustration and gave me a dirty look when I slipped out of her, too limp to keep going. Harry was there. Not really quick enough. It's hard to stay hard when you're pretty sure someone's questioning your parentage and whimpering in frustration. I could tell Harry was starting to get just as frustrated and I did something very stupid.

I planted one hand on Hermione's back, steadying her for a moment then I grabbed Harry and guided him in.

We looked at each other in total shock for a moment. You don't just grab your best mate's willy.

If Hermione noticed, she didn't give a damn. She was already moving. It broke the spell. Harry turned back to her.

I understood her frustrated groans better when she came on his third stroke. She must have been really bloody close when I slipped out.

Not that Harry lasted much longer. Two or three more strokes and have gave a pretty sexy moan of his own before collapsing onto her back. She shrugged him off and collapsed onto the bed. I stretched out beside her.

She was purring so load it would put Crookshanks to shame.

I brushed her sweat soaked hair out of her face.

She flinched.

In case you've never experienced it, it's not a good feeling when you reach out to touch someone you love and they flinch.

That wonderfully spent look she'd had a moment before was gone, replaced by the panicked desperation she'd worn when she entered the room. Harry looked at me over her back. He could tell from her body language that something was wrong.

"Hermione?"

It was the first time any of us had spoken during one of our visits with the pink elephant named "Pervy Three-way Sex". Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. I'd seen Hermione have some damn good cries in five and half years. Never once had I seen one like this. She grabbed me and clung to me in a way she hadn't since Harry went missing at the end of fourth year. She cried harder that she did the night she told me about her parents wanting to take her out of Hogwarts. When Harry touched her, I swear I'll never know how she did it if I live another century, she dragged the wanker under her so she could cling to both of us.

Then everything clicked. I maybe thick, but I spoke Hermione Jane Granger fluently even back then.

I grabbed her and I kissed her. It was the first time any of us had kissed. It was rough, needy, and may all that's holy forgive me, I ground my self against her leg.

"I love you," I said as I turned her head towards Harry.

Harry is less fluent in Hermione, but he is fluent in Ronald Weasley's glare of death. He kissed her. I don't think he ground against her. Harry's kind of shy, even with people he just shagged rotten.

"We both love you," he said.

Wanker. Always had to one up me.

But like I said, I speak better Hermione than he does.

"None of us are going to die."

Now, to an outside observer, namely Harry, that seemed like exactly the wrong thing to say. After all, she went and started blubbering. We'd known Hermione for five and a half years. Harry still didn't speak her language. Five decades on he still isn't much better. He's still a wanker too.

She must have cried for a good half an hour before she lifted her head off Harry's shoulder. Her face was red, she had tear streaks down her cheeks and her nose was running.

"Merlin's beard," I said, "you're beautiful."

Best piece of advice my father ever gave me. Every woman needs to hear she's beautiful, especially in those moments when she isn't.

So I got the best snog of my life (up until that point) from a girl who'd just left boogies on my best mate's shoulder and looked a fright. What the hell did I care. I loved her when she was dripping seaweed and flicking beetles out of her hair, I loved her when Malfoy knocked Neville's plant over and sprayed us all with stink sap. I even loved her the days I hated her. Did you really think a little snot was going to get in the way?

Still, I grabbed the tissues off the nightstand and let her clean up a bit. A couple of comfort snogs is one thing. Much more than that got into some weird fetish.

After she'd cleaned her face, she looked down at Harry and kissed him, too.

It was my night to do stupid things. Hermione rose up after kissing him, and I leaned down and kissed the stupid git. I'd meant it as a joke until the bloody git stuck his tongue in my mouth. Wanker always had to one up me. I decided to one up him. Or maybe it was the little whimpering noises Hermione was making. The little whimper I already couldn't resist. I'd already had his dick in my hand once that night. I figured what the hell. I slipped my hand between Hermione's legs and grabbed him.

Suddenly, it wasn't a joke anymore. Suddenly I wasn't kissing him anymore. I was looking into his eyes as I held him in my hand and bloody fucking hell I was getting hard again and it had nothing to do with... Well, maybe it had a little to do with the way a very naked Hermione was looking back and forth between us, chewing on that impossibly cute lower lip.

I knew what was about to happen.

"Do you trust me?" Hermione asked.

I thought about the last four days. About what I'd watched her do with Harry, what I'd let her do to me. If I didn't trust her, I'd have strangled Harry in his sleep and buggered the future of the Wizarding world. On the other hand, if she was about to suggest what I think she was, maybe she'd finally gone round the bend.

She got that look. The one that says "You're going to think I'm mad, and after a great deal of argument I will produce the proof that I was right all along because I'm the world's biggest know it all, so can we just skip to the part where you admit I was right, you were wrong and I get to say 'I told you so'?"

I hate that look. Because she's always bleeding right.

Of course, over the next few days she did say "I told you so". She said it the next morning when she showed me the books she'd learned all that stuff from. She said it the next night when I begged her not to stop after the third time in a row I'd come from her fingers stuffed up my arse. She said it the night after that when I came in Harry's mouth. She said it when I came because Harry came in my mouth. She said it when I came inside Harry. She said it when I came with Harry inside me.

Five decades on she still says it every bloody time she catches me and Harry shagging without her.

Oh, right. Harry and I. Bloody know it all.

Of course, I was right about none of us dying, but you think either of them gives me credit for that?

Not bloody likely.

I'm a nearly seventy year old wizard living in sin with the world's biggest know it all and a wanker.

What the hell. It's good to be Ronald Billius Weasley.


End file.
